In Between
by KBeckett0334
Summary: It's nights like this that are embedded into her memory – her face fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck, his chin resting on top of her head, their arms and legs thoroughly tangled together. FutureFic.


**A/N: So it's been a while. I've been dying to write a new fic, but inspiration's been lacking since, oh, May. This started out as a creative writing assignment for one of my classes. The original version is a little different, but as I was writing, I kept seeing Castle and Beckett as the characters so I couldn't help converting it into a proper fanfic. Hope y'all like it.**

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine. But it is on my Christmas list.**

* * *

He never fails to amaze her.

She leans in the doorway, watching as he cradles the baby to his chest and croons soft phrases of love into the girl's ear, trying to get her to fall back asleep. He's shirtless, flannel sleep pants slung low on his hips, bare feet pressed to the hardwood floor.

He's never looked more handsome in his life.

After a couple minutes of the baby's incessant cries, he moves to the rocking chair by the window in surrender. The moon turns his face a silvery white, highlighting the ruffled hair and stubbly shadow of a beard. She's never seen him with a considerable amount of facial hair before, and she doesn't yet know how she feels about it.

He rocks back and forth gently – the chair creaking under him and the baby still whimpering pitifully in his arms. He doesn't see her as she watches him calm the child, whispering now. His voice is so low that it's hard to hear, but she definitely picks up something that sounds like "So pretty. Just like mommy."

Amazing how he can make her smile even when he doesn't intend to.

His quiet whispers mollify the baby faster than would seem possible, and it's not long before the girl has drifted off to sleep, tiny face pressed into his bare chest. He continues to gently sway in the chair, staring at the wall, and when he shifts his head, she can see that his eyes are shining.

The sight of his tears has her backing out of the doorframe and padding down the hall, feeling sick to her stomach. The walls around her are so horrifyingly blank and merely add to her growing anxiety. She wonders how long they'll stay that way.

She takes the stairs down to the living room, not knowing what to do except make herself scarce. She paces around the room, dodging all sorts of new things for the baby – items that haven't found a place in the loft yet and are therefore just sitting in the living room until they do. Somebody really should make an effort to clean it up, but no one has the time.

It's eerily quiet down here. The only sounds are the soft ticking of the clock in his study and the occasional creak from the rocking chair upstairs. Moonlight filters in through the window, casting a glow upon the room that should be calming; instead it highlights all of the objects haphazardly strewn about the couch and the table and the floor, and the overall effect is nothing short of creepy.

She takes a seat on the couch, right next to a stuffed elephant that stares up at her with beady eyes – a gift from one of her aunts or some distant cousin. She runs her hands over the tiny thing, wondering what its fate will be. A future favorite of her daughter's perhaps? Or will he be condemned to a life in one of the closets? His melancholy gaze seems to ask her why she even cares in the first place, and truth be told, she doesn't really know. Maybe she just identifies with him at the moment, with a fate so unpredictable and currently feeling as though she's stuck in some kind of middle ground where she's neither homeless nor sheltered.

Eventually, the unsettling ambiance of the room drives her into his office. As always, she gravitates towards the bookshelf where the Nikki Heat books – _her_ books – sit quietly. She's still blown away by the fact that he chose to write books about her – the life they created together forever preserved in their pages.

The sound of a door closing startles her from her thoughts. Slipping across the study and into their bedroom, she finds Castle lying on the bed wide awake, his eyes still glistening. Crawling in next to him, she presses herself into his side, stretching her body over warm skin. It's nights like this that are embedded into her memory – her face fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck, his chin resting on top of her head, their arms and legs thoroughly tangled together. They lie together in near silence, his ragged breathing the only thing disturbing the quiet. She squeezes closer, willing him to sleep just as he had done with their daughter moments ago.

"I love you, Kate," he whispers as his eyes finally slip shut.

"I know," she tells him. "I know."

* * *

She's sitting in the kitchen when she hears the front door open and shut.

"Honey, I'm home." His voice drifts to her from the foyer, the first lines of a ritual they had created in jest when she was on maternity leave and he'd been in meetings all day.

"Hello, dear. How was work today?" is the traditional response she calls back.

"Just swell, sweetheart. Just swell." He'd usually laugh after that, unable to contain his boyish amusement over how cheesy it is, but when he delivers the line today, his voice is soft and sober.

He hesitates by the stairs, leaning ever so slightly against the railing and kneading his forehead with the heel of his hand. He takes in the sight of the kitchen with all of the food that is lying around, practically covering every surface. Sighing, he moves to the sink, pressing his hands against the counter.

She stares at him, not knowing what to do, when his legs suddenly buckle and he's sliding down to the floor, shaking with sobs.

She leaps to her feet, rushing over to where he's sitting up with his back against the counter and his knees pulled up nearly to his chest. Wrapping her arms around him, she brushes her lips against his forehead, his ear, whispering anything and everything and just begging him to stop. Because, dammit, Martha is right upstairs taking care of the baby and she doesn't want anyone else to see him like this. Not when he's been doing so well.

It's not long before she finds that her own cheeks are wet, tears stinging her eyes. She hates having to see him this broken, hates even more how there's nothing she can do to help, how all she can do is hold him and pray that he'll get better.

Roughly ten minutes pass before his mother comes bustling down the stairs to see what the commotion is. Even she can't help crying as she joins them on the floor, hugging her little boy as he continues to break down.

Another half hour passes before he finally manages to compose himself and goes upstairs to see their daughter.

* * *

She huddles outside the bedroom door, listening to Castle read the girl a bedtime story. Her daughter is so incredibly quiet, soaking up the words like a dry sponge. Occasionally she'll ask a question about the story or one of the characters, but for the most part, she doesn't say a word – she barely even moves.

When the story is over, she hears her husband shifting around, closing the book and putting it back on its shelf in the corner.

"Daddy?" comes her daughter's voice after a moment.

"Yeah, baby girl?"

"Did Snow White and the prince live happily ever after?"

She hears a creak as he sits back down on the side of the bed. "Yeah, sweetie, they lived happily ever after. They got married and had a beautiful little girl just like you." There's a squeal as he leans down to tickle her.

Once her daughter's laughter has subsided, she asks another question, "Daddy, did you and mommy live happily ever after?"

There is a pregnant pause where everything in the world seems to go completely still in anticipation of his answer.

"Yeah," he eventually says, voice cracking ever so slightly. "Yeah we did."

The sound of rustling sheets fills the void as he properly tucks her in. "You need to get some sleep now. You have a big day tomorrow."

"School!" she squeals.

"That's right, baby. School."

"Is mommy going to visit me tonight since it's a big day tomorrow?"

She hears him take a ragged breath. These questions must be taking their toll on him. "Mommy visits you every night, sweetie."

"Because she loves me?" their daughter asks.

"Yeah, because she loves you."

There's a pause as the girl thinks this over. "I love mommy too, daddy."

"I know, baby. Me too." And he must be crying now because there's a telling catch in his voice.

But that's okay because there are tears streaming down her own face.

She peeks her head in the doorway, watching him press a kiss to the girl's forehead before he stands, turning off the light as he leaves the room. When he passes her, she examines his face – dark shadows that weren't there five years ago lurk under his eyes and his cheekbones are more prominent than they used to be. But still, she's proud of the fact that he hasn't completely let himself go.

Once he's gone down the hall and disappeared down the stairs, she moves into their daughter's room and sits on the edge of the bed, just as Castle had done only moments before.

The girl is completely buried under the covers with only her head sticking out. She's a tiny little thing, with her mother's dark green eyes and her daddy's smile. And she's smart. She's so incredibly smart, with one hell of an imagination to match.

She runs her fingers over her daughter's face, her hair, but not touching – no, never touching. She can't. She simply can't. Can't touch; can't feel. Most days, she doesn't know if this existence that she's living is a blessing or a curse. Because she gets to see her little girl grow up, but she does this knowing that the child will never know her – she'll never know the mother who died giving her life. And on top of that, she also bears witness to every second of her husband's grief.

But right now, looking down at her daughter, she just can't regret getting to see her grow older.

She brushes her lips against the girl's forehead, her nose, her cheek. Then she makes herself pull away, whispering a "Good luck tomorrow, baby" before she stands up, taking note, as she always does, of the plush elephant that's sitting on the nightstand and bathing in moonlight.

And then she leaves, taking the familiar trip downstairs and into their bedroom (because no matter what it will always be _their_ bedroom) where her husband is lying on the bed, eyes wide open. This too has become a sort of ritual for them, even though he doesn't really know it. And yet, he never seems to be able to sleep until she's cuddled into his side.

"I love you, Kate," he always says right before he closes his eyes.

"I know," is her reply. "I know."

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I hate myself a little for writing this, but I got the idea of writing from a ghost's perspective and it all just sort of poured out (along with my tears). I started out all excited about it, but once I got to writing the conversation with the daughter, I started sobbing and came to the conclusion that I am a terrible, terrible person.**

**So. Love it? Hate it? Want to yell at me for playing with your emotions? Hit the review button and let me know. :)**

**UPDATE: NCIS-Addict-4417 wrote an awesome companion piece to this called "In Hushed Whispers & Soft Kisses" so go check it out! Trust me, it'll probably make you feel better. :)**


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